


Motion Sickness

by seaofolives



Series: Songs for Brothers [3]
Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Canon Era, Canon Universe, Gen, Inspired by Music, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Canon, Song Lyrics, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 08:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18007082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofolives/pseuds/seaofolives
Summary: I hate you for what you didAnd I miss you like a little kidI faked it every time but that's alrightI can hardly feel anythingI hardly feel anything at all





	Motion Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Phoebe Bridgers' _Motion Sickness_ , set after _[Over and over](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16369946)_ written as a conclusion to the unintended semi-trilogy. I don't even remember why I wrote this but here we are.

Five months, three weeks and four days. That was how long it took for the Ano-athox to regroup and return their attention to little ol’ Asgardia, and this time he doubted they could be easily dissuaded. For one, failure could be quite the effective motivator. For another, there was their leader to consider—turns out relocating him to Asgardia’s modest dungeon was a worse decision than initially thought. 

Should he have said something about it? Mentioned it in passing? Put it in a note tied to a bird’s foot that would just so happen to be flying by Thor’s way where he might accidentally drop it on purpose? Perhaps he should have, he thought. His brother would never trust him again but there are other ways to make a convincing argument without exposing himself. But then, who would keep an eye on the World Eaters, if not for him? 

Who would then watch their approach, like a trail of red ants in the midst of dry grass and emptiness? From his perch at the edge of the floating island, feet dangling without a care for his safety. He would not fall—and he never died by falling, besides—and while Heimdall may have words with this particularly mischievous intruder, Heimdall was never the most talkative gatekeeper of his lot, too. 

The air over his shoulder tore open. “Bad news, Loki,” a voice called to him as the wind mended the seam and righted the world again. “It’s just as you expected—the Avengers aren’t home. It’s just you and me this time,” he told him. 

“And Strange?” Loki asked, unfazed by the dire circumstances. And when hasn’t circumstances been dire for him? This is just one of those moments and he’s learned to dance with them. 

“Looking for the Avengers.”

Loki smiled at the report, still watching the careful army of his fellow trespassers. “I see Strange could be amenable, after all.”

“Not to you,” his husky companion corrected him. “But as the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, he has a responsibility towards her people.”

Loki looked up finally over his shoulder, to the stouter bald man standing close to him as he observed the enemy. “And you?” he asked his fellow sorcerer. “Does Wong share the same burden?” He spoke with a teasing lilt in his voice but it was true what Strange said.

This man did not laugh so easily. Wong only shrugged at him as he said, “I live here. If you are saying the truth and this people will eat this world then I have to stop them.” An easily agreeable sentiment. 

He met with them, Wong and Strange, about a month and a half after his last meeting with his brother, a few weeks after he’d started observing the Ano-athox again. He’d let them put him in whatever bonds that would satisfy their fragile security, then recruited them into his own watch, a deal signed and sealed by various barters from all sides of the negotiation. They had been meeting in secret since. 

This would be their last meeting, and, Loki figured, the last time he could trick these invaders into trusting him. As much as possible, he wished he could have saved Asgardia without outing himself but some working relationships…just weren’t all that worth it. 

Some were simply more important than his professional career. 

Loki rose to his feet, eyes to the approaching villains. “The Ano-athox will come for two things—first their king, and then the World Tree, which sits at the edge of Asgardia. We can’t let them go that far. I’ll distract them while you lay down your traps. Worry about the World Tree. Thor will take care of the dungeon.”

“ _If_ he comes,” Wong said, looking at him. He met him eye to eye. “Thor wasn’t home,” he reminded him. 

“Oh he will come,” Loki smiled. “You’ll see.” The King of Asgardia must come thundering into battle for his people. 

A confidence Wong didn’t like. He frowned at it, putting on a wary look. “No tricks, Trickster?” he asked the liar. 

Who had lost his brother. His home, he was now forbidden to call his. So why this, then? Why save something that was no longer his? Why save at all? 

Because why not? Why stop now when there’s no one left to stop him? His people were made to think him dead so he could do whatever it is he wanted. So be it.

He grinned at the suspicious Wong. “Where’s the fun in that, then?” He had lost his brother and his home. His tricks were all he had left. So be it. Time for this one-time conqueror, two-time king to save the world, then. Time for the greatest trick of all.

Bracing his knees, he leaped down to meet the enemy, Wong swooping closely next to him.

—

Five months, three weeks and four days. That is how long it had taken him to find Loki again.

Only by then, it may already be too late. 

It’s a thought that poisons Thor as he sat, with his forehead on his praying fist, next to his brother, supine under the covers of his bed, and unwaking. They’d done their best, _he’d_ done his best about his injuries, now cleaned and bandaged in Asgardian fashion, the methods of Earth not quite yet being up to par with their advancements. But as for the rest of his recovery, that was all up to Loki now. 

He had come, of course—of course, he had—but he had taken his time. When Strange had found him after scouring the globe, he was waiting on an old friend in a bar in Reykjavik, away on on his own Avengers mission that disguised a more…personal pursuit. He hadn’t even known that the Avengers had been drawn away by a group of terrorists curiously endowed with alien technology. The whole time…since his last conversation with Steve Rogers, his mind had been on his brother, who could be anywhere, doing Odin knew what. Any bar room whisper, any gossip and chatter may then be the clue he might have been hoping for—to lead him to Loki so he could finally set things right. The only problem with clandestine missions, of course, was that no one knew where he was. 

By the time he’d arrived to his kingdom, then, the battle had already breached the gates. Panic threw him off his balance, sent him in a frenzy for answers and solutions. He found the World Eaters and of course they would never be so brash to attack without anything to distract Asgardia’s champion. He followed them to the dungeons and of course they would come for their king. 

He found his brother shortly after, leading a brigade of brigands he’d sprung from their cells. And of course, he thought, he would betray him again. Who else could lead the enemy by the hand for revenge and retribution? Who else would join them in their cause all in the name of chaos and mischief? The familiar jab of a knife on his heart was back again, mocking him. Everything in his eyes became red after, and thunder boomed. 

Loki’s team of convicts scattered, to hide, to flee while he exacted a king’s vengeance for his people against their treacherous prince. He might have done worse had the sorcerer not removed both him and the escaping leader of the Ano-athox from the dungeons, onto some vacant expanse of Broxton, but the damage had already been done. 

It was his greatest betrayal to his kin—he should have known then that not all was as it seemed, as was always the case with his brother. There was always a purpose to his actions, whatever they were—his lies, his faked deaths. His betrayal to the crown so he could lure the enemies into a trap. His cowardice so he could isolate the King of the World Eaters and the King of Asgardia so that the former could not escape. It all makes sense now as it all made sense then. 

The only thing that didn’t was when Loki suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and bound himself to the crimson king by his magic to restrict his escape. To give him to the full blow of Thor’s storm but not without taking some for himself. So the damage was done. 

Strange and his accomplice’s revelation of a sorcerer’s deal as they recuperated in one of the castles only added salt to injury, turned the bitter poison of heartbreak into something more acidic that could have burned his bile if he was a weaker man. He had done this. He had blamed and pinned his rage on Strange and Wong for Loki’s fate, but he knew he was only deflecting faults. They all did. 

He had done all this. 

The gasp of a waking man was what fished him out of his whirlpool of thoughts, a sound so soft he might have easily missed it. Thor snapped in attention as the same voice began to cough, eyes catching the stirring form in his bed, the hand shifting which he started to reach for. “Loki—!” he grunted. 

It slapped him—like a cold viper coming suddenly to life. The sting on his wrist felt as if it had come from a different universe, and it paralyzed him. 

So that he could only stare like a dumb man, and watch the same hand raise him a warning finger. “Don’t,” came the hiss soon enough, “touch me.”

He did not. Thor drew his hands back, fingers curling to safety while his brother rose, like a roused wraith. Heavy and sluggish; on his long shoulders, his shirt suddenly seemed too big. It rose and fell with every exhalation Loki made, the discomfort of waking up from a deep sleep painted clearly on his brows no matter that his locks may try to obscure it. His ragged breaths filled the tiny space between the walls. 

“You’ve made,” he began carefully, lest he suddenly lose his air. “Your point,” he growled. 

Thor swallowed his anxiety, shaking his head. He had made his point, but it was not the one he wished to make. He had to say something. “Loki, I swear, I didn’t—”

“Would it smear you to trust me for one second?” Loki snarled, whirling at his brother. Not too long ago, this was not a talk he would have expected from his brother, who besought him and nagged him to let him come home. Now those green eyes had been cast on him like daggers, and they seared him. “All those years where I had been your enemy, have you ever seen me lay waste on Asgard? When I became king, was it to ruin it?”

“Loki,” Thor tried again. 

“The only time I had it burned to nothing,” but Loki persisted, “was when _you_ told me to summon Surtr to life.” He paused to catch his breath, keeping his eyes on his brother, his frown set as he shook his head. And said, “And so I did. I followed through, did I not, my liege?” 

“Loki, it was my mistake,” Thor admitted with a desperate note, speaking up before Loki could steal his chance again. “I confess, when I saw you in the dungeon, leading a troop of convicts, I immediately thought the worst—”

“The worst,” Loki repeated. And then he began to laugh, his shoulders shaking. It was not a good laugh. “The worst of me.”

“Loki, no—” 

“Gods, Thor, if you just opened your eyes sometimes!” Loki burst out suddenly, lashing out his hand. 

“My eyes were open,” Thor told him, his voice low and quiet next to his brother, who dropped his head forward to rest on his hand, elbow on his knee. “But I’d shut my mind before I could be hurt.”

When their voices fell into silence again, Thor felt relieved. For once, Loki was not trying to talk over him. Perhaps this time, he would be more willing to hear him out. He did not reach for his brother. He waited until Loki was ready to speak again himself. 

“Did you catch the king?” Loki asked, apropos of nothing without raising his face. 

“We did,” Thor revealed. “And largely because of your actions.” Perhaps a little pandering to his pride would help his case. 

Loki did give out a little laugh, for whatever it was worth. He turned to face his brother, smiling slightly, his pallor still quite off the mark. “You know, I thought I finally had your measure. I thought finally,” he threw up his hands, “I knew what kind of a man you truly were. The Odinson!” A proclamation to the empty space with arms spread out. “As proud of his father as his lying, two-faced father ever was of him. Who,” he started to chuckle, shaking his head at the joke of the hour, “would have thought that you would come groveling to me for my pardon?”

Thor never imagined that recent events concerning their father’s last words would ever exonerate the poor old man of his many crimes towards his youngest son. A few moments of peace and acceptance could never undo the years of neglect and dishonesty. Shunned by one family and then the next, simply because he was not the ideal mold for the son his fathers wanted. Loki was not blameless for his actions but the blame was not his completely either. 

Sometimes, Thor felt like he alone in the whole cosmos knew that. He tried to be a good brother but he always seemed to get off at the wrong foot. 

Now that was all his brother seemed to remember him for. A sad thing that painted a little smile on his aspect. How typical of his brother. “You’ve always ever seen everyone in their worst light,” he observed, speaking so casually, his voice so mellow, one would think he and his brother were simply sharing a bottle.

But the glower in Loki’s eyes would speak otherwise, his eyes flashing green fire as his features darkened and he growled softly, “And why do you say that, good brother? Did you think of that when you _denied me?_ ”

“Loki—” Thor reached to him.

“You _shunned_ me, Thor!!” Loki exploded, twisting wildly, finger jabbing his chest. “When I was asking you to _take me back_ —”

“Do you think I wouldn’t have if I could!” Thor spat back, raising his voice to be heard over the blood boiling in his brother’s ears. “If I was sure you wouldn’t betray me again? You lie, and cheat, as if you were just talking. Have you,” he faltered to pause, sweeping his arm out as he went on more calmly, “have you ever thought about how tiring it is to listen to them? To keep questioning them and your trust? Until the next time you are betrayed and then the next?”

“I told you:” Loki snarled, “I’ve changed.”

“So have I!” Thor responded, exasperation scraping at the base of his throat. “I’m no longer the hapless brother you once knew, did you never think of that?!”

Loki let out another growl, clicking his tongue as he whirled away with a wild shake of his head. He raised both his knees so he could prop his elbows on them and press the heels of his palms on his eyes, his curtain of unruly hair obscuring the pain from his brother.

Thor didn’t need to see it—he’d seen it countless of times from their time as godlings, young princes vying for a throne they only realized too late they couldn’t share. Loki was always like that—so wild in his ecstasy and rage even at the expense of his own comfort and health.

So much has changed between them but for this. Thor fell back to his seat, laughing so quietly at the thought. “One-thousand years,” he began, speaking slowly. Loki turned to him with furrowed brows, green eyes dim beneath his headache. “We’ve been brothers for one- _thousand_ years. Gods, we even had the troll pox together!” Thor threw his hand out.

“I reckon that was still your fault.”

“How could we let seven years redefine us, Loki?” Thor went on, voice softer. “Your father, our father, all those lies, they can’t be better than us!”

It was, perhaps, Thor’s sentiments speaking for him again—a thought Loki had always claimed to hate, perhaps because he hadn’t found the cure for it yet. Loki’s shoulders fell as he raised his head slightly, and then he laughed, a sound caught between one and a cough. “Thor,” he sighed, shaking his head. He sounded so tired and morose. “But we can’t go back anymore.”

“We don't have to,” Thor persisted, scooting an inch closer to his weary brother. He leaned forward, elbows on his lap. “I’m not saying that we should.”

“You’re asking me to trust you again.” The sharpness was back in Loki’s tone, echoing like the crack of a whip in the silence.

“I wasn’t the one who lied first,” Thor reminded him.

“I wasn’t the one who stopped trying,” Loki countered, daring his brother to protest.

Well, wasn’t this the fork they always died on? Over and over again. Loki had always counted on his brother’s love to tether him somehow and Thor had always wished Loki would stop lying, only Thor was no saint and, well, neither was Loki. They could keep coming back to this point in their lives and repeat the same story until one of them well and truly died.

Or Thor could walk the talk and finally do something about this. He was 1,500-years of age, not yet so old for gods and yet even he had outgrown this cycle. He didn’t have all his life for this.

“Well,” he began, offering a quiet smile, “maybe we can both try again.”

Triumph came in the form of Loki’s silence—he didn’t expect the man to give in so easily, and Loki’s arrogance would never let him shut up if he thought he had a chance to win. But all that he could manage was a sigh, something that seemed to have been welling up in his chest since the start of the quarrel. 

“Bor’s balls, I can’t think,” Loki complained all of a sudden. Thor smiled in secret at the sudden change of his tone, even as his brother reached for the flesh between his eyes eyes to squeeze it hard. “Please tell me we’ve still got those berries for headaches. I feel sick.”

“If I get you those berries, will you forgive me?”

Loki cast him an irritated look for his impudence. Probably not the best way to appease a scorned brother, but they’d gone past that now. They’d crossed the fork, and all they could do now was to keep moving. “Depends on how fast you can get me them,” he spat.

“Hey, don't,” Thor pointed to him in warning, “make a mess in my bed. Okay? This is not your room. Do you still want that dipped in spiced honey?” For a man, who was supposedly very ill, this was an unnecessary luxury. 

But Loki looked at him as though he was a stranger, brows low and frowning. “Of course,” he said. “I always take them in spiced honey.” It was a childhood favorite of his. 

“Then hold it in until I get back, or do whatever sorcery you must.” Thor’s hands flew again with wiggling fingers as he turned for the door. 

“That’s not how it works.” He could almost hear Loki rolling his eyes over his shoulder. Thor reached for the handle and pulled the door open. “Thank you,” Loki said suddenly. 

He turned just in time to watch him say the word, “Brother.”

This was hope then, for another shot at family. “Of course, Brother,” he replied, smiling slightly. 

He waited long enough to see Loki give him a little shy nod, a little embarrassed to be trying on the shoes of a brother again, before he pulled the door shut behind him. That, he thought, was the first thing they could try together, then.


End file.
